


it's darkest before the dawn [but i can't tell if the sun is coming up]

by asmilemingledwithwrath



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 14:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6708118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asmilemingledwithwrath/pseuds/asmilemingledwithwrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You messed up.<br/>(But that's just what you always do.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's darkest before the dawn [but i can't tell if the sun is coming up]

The first time they broke something, they knew exactly what would happen next.

This was how it always went down: one of them would find out eventually, no matter how they tried to hide it, and then it would be a left turn straight down to Shit Central.

They didn’t feel like not eating today. They didn’t feel like getting hit today.

And they had never been good at accepting what was coming to them.

 

Bare feet paused only briefly, as if considering the shattered ceramic floor as an actual path, before they stepped to the side instead and reached for the fridge. Surprisingly calm, surprisingly even – _they_ were surprised that they weren’t trembling, even a little – a scabbed-over hand covered the latch (always smooth, always slightly cool to the touch as if the ice cold within was radiating outwards from the closed door), tightening its grip before pulling it open.

Chocolate, half-eaten pie, leftover dinner – they didn’t look, took all they could carry and then made a pouch out of the front of their sweater for the rest they couldn’t, clenched the end in their teeth to make sure it didn’t spill. And then they took off on soft soles and a vague whisper of a patter against the pale patterned tiling, ignoring the mess they had made of the kitchen altogether. [it wasn’t like that was new, wasn’t as if they didn’t do it every other day. everything was ruined under their touch eventually – whether silverware or people.]

They felt like a spirit, or maybe something worse, ghosting through the silent hallways – a forgotten thing, alone for years in the place they had left in a hearse. (Might have been better that way.) They were alone for now, but wouldn’t be for long. They had to be quick, had to be quiet. Couldn’t attract attention; the shattering crash might have already been too loud on its own. Maybe they were already coming in from outside to investigate. They couldn’t have that. They sped up, ignoring the brief staggering stumble they made along the way.

Their hands might have been full, but there was no hint of hesitation in their movement as they approached the door; opening it with an elbow before shutting it behind them with a foot, every motion spoke of well-practice. They looked around the room, the slightest tremble of the knowledge that they were on a time limit prickling at their spine, trying to find _anything_ they could block the entrance off with – but there was nothing, nothing they could use. They had to just hope they could stay down until any anger directed at them had faded back into apathy.

Without another word – which was funny, actually, because they hadn’t _said_ a word in all this time in the first place – they dropped awkwardly to their knees, keeping their held treasures carefully away from the floor (not that they wouldn’t have eaten them if they fell, but it would be a painfully obvious indication of where they had gone if there was a food stain on the carpet) and crawling under the bed.

 

It was dark under there, of course. Dark and cramped and vaguely musty, because there was really only so much cleaning could do to get fresh air into an area that never received it, but it was _safe_. As safe as they could be, in any case; which wasn’t very. The illusion of it went a long way to calming their pounding heart, however, and they could actively feel the rate of breath whooshing in and out from between their clenched teeth slow.

Deliberately, they placed the candy bar their right hand held down onto the floor and began to quickly wolf the pasta clenched in their left, licking the spaghetti sauce off their digits; an effort to free them up in case they required a quick grip to wrench someone else’s off of them, a likely futile but stubborn insistence on resistance.

Task done, they unrolled the ‘pocket’ they had made of the front of their clothing and placed those before them, listing them off quietly in the dim lighting that shone through the bedspread. A pie slice or two, an apple, a sausage… They absently brushed away the crumbs clinging to their clothing.

Perhaps not a set of food that would necessarily last long or well, but hopefully enough for the day, or however long it would take for their transgression to be forgotten. They just had to ration it out – and they were more than used to that.

That was the easy part – the _hard_ part was waiting. Anticipation; not knowing whether they would be found, if they had covered their tracks well enough, if when they left their little niche enough time had passed and they wouldn’t be beaten anyway for hiding away somewhere beforehand… It was a good thing they had already learnt that the quickest way to pass the time was to doze, and a better thing yet that they never had a proper night’s sleep. Anything better, anything more, and they were sure the wait would have gotten the better of them. But instead, they could whittle away at least a portion of the hours with a nap instead, and they for once actually almost thanked their uneasy nightmares as they shut their eyes and curled up a little further. (They weren’t worried about being caught off-guard because of _that_ , at least; they had always been a light sleeper. They had to be.)

 

* * *

 

And as they predicted, they wake up the instant the door slides open with the faintest squeak of unoiled hinges.

“Chara?”

Their name drifts through the air like he expects them to answer, and their face screws up into something that they know on the outside looks like a smile but feels more like a snarl. They don’t reply, and they don’t move either. They refuse to let a shuffle give away their presence, and they force their breath even and calm. (If they felt the need to cough _now_ , they think they really might punch themself in the throat.)

There aren’t any claws to softly click against the floorboards for them to pick up the sound of as he makes his way cautiously into the room, but they can tell he’s gotten closer anyway just by the proximity of his voice when he speaks up again. There’s the slightest burr of frustration in it, and their eyes narrow further in response to his tone.

“Come _on_ , Chara. I know you’ve gotta be in here somewhere. It’s just a plate, I swear it’s okay. Please come out?”

But they refused.

Did he really think they couldn’t tell that he was annoyed? It had been his favourite plate, after all; one-of-a-kind, with the worn image of Perseus’ star constellation printed upon on it, and they had knocked it right to the floor while getting out a mug for hot chocolate.

Even if they were stupid, they weren’t _this_ stupid.

“ _Please_. Mom and Dad are worried you might have cut yourself on one of the pieces, they don’t want you to be walking around if one of them is stuck in your foot or anything… I swear they’re not angry at you.”

Had the scratch on their sole been that obvious? They didn’t think it had been deep enough to leave _much_ blood. (Not that, upon retrospect, they had really looked at it at all. They had barely even acknowledged it, had they?)

The owner of the voice stops right in front of their bed, and even with the sheet covering their actual view of him, they could almost envision the soft white paws wiggling slightly against the plush carpet before them.

“I promise, Chara. I promise-- I wouldn’t let them hurt you even if they _were_ mad. Because, even if _I_ sound mad, I’m still your best friend, okay? And best friends don’t let each other get hurt.”

_Best friends don’t let each other get hurt._

They couldn’t argue with that.

 

But, even having heard the solemn swear, the genuine quality in Asriel’s voice, they still hesitated – monster or not, _good_ or not, surely their mistake had to be punished?

They wanted to be ashamed in themself for _ever_ mentally comparing the Dreemurrs to the ones whom had birthed them—

But at the same time, they couldn’t let go of the certainty that they knew what would happen the instant they crawled out from under the bed.

Instincts screaming for them to stop, shouting at them about how stupid a choice they were making, they compromised by nudging their small hoard of food aside and very gingerly lifting one end of the bedspread, peeking out from under the curtain of grey fabric to the Boss Monster standing right where they had thought he would be.

“It was your favourite plate, though.” They say, and if their voice sounds uncertain or anxious then Asriel is nice enough not to mention it. (Which he is, he and the rest of his family are _too, too kind to them,_ so they can only hope they haven’t given away their emotions.)

He doesn’t skip a beat in answering. “Yeah, but it was an accident. I mean—Yeah, I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of annoyed? I don’t think I can get another one unless I somehow get _really_ lucky.” [at those words, they can feel themself shrinking back under the bed. of course he was, this was all their fault, they broke everything they cared about and everything the people they cared about cared about, they were just ruining everything by staying here--] “But! I know you didn’t do it on purpose, Chara. And I know you’re already probably beating yourself up over it. I can just use another plate, you know? It’s not a big deal. Really!”

Fangs flash comfortingly from where they peek out of his muzzle as Asriel smiles down at his sibling, and he extends a soft-padded paw out to them.

“Come on, Chara. Let’s let Mom get you all healed up, alright? I’ll help you there.”

This time, there’s no hesitation or ingrained reaction telling them to cease when Chara reaches up to take it.

 

* * *

 

(Later, Chara mercilessly teases Asriel about how he had, true to form, immediately teared up - just a little - at just how awful their foot had looked when they crawled out from under the bed.

Asriel sniffles a little more and then pushes them over with a small shove, and they know that he won’t try to treat them like freshly-spun glass despite what had happened today.

They don’t have words for how much they appreciate that – but then again, they never really do.)

**Author's Note:**

> weeks later, probably:  
> asriel: ...um why does our room smell like rotting food  
> chara: lmao whoops

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Hide and Seek](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6712120) by [Starsight (crownhearted)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownhearted/pseuds/Starsight)




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